“Indeed he is not.”
James’s heart sank. He’d hoped to speak with Michael, to try and repair the rift between them. Ever since James had denied him his blessing to wed Mrs. Petersen, however, Michael had avoided him. He sighed as he pulled off his greatcoat.
“However,” Atkins said, “there is a lady waiting to see you in the parlor.”
James frowned. This was most unusual and irregular, not to mention highly unwelcome news. “You know my office hours, Atkins. Why didn’t you ask her to come back tomorrow morning between eight and ten?”
“I did, but she insisted. When she mentioned the need to discuss a personal matter with you and said it pertained to your son, I thought it might be best for you to decide whether or not to turn her away.” Atkins met James’s regard with a stiff mien. “Her name is Mrs. Lawson.”
Tension gripped every sinew in James’s body. A shiver of anticipation clutched at his nerves. “Christ.”
“My sentiment exactly.”
James raised an eyebrow at his butler who didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “Admitting her was a mistake, Atkins, though I daresay I can appreciate your reasoning. Please tell her to leave now. I want that woman out of my house right away.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Once she’s gone,” James added, “please have a cool compress delivered to my study, would you?”
The butler inclined his head and James strolled off. He sought out the sanctuary he had been craving for most of the day and dropped into the deep leather armchair behind his desk. Leaning back into a slouch, he stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Heaven have mercy. The woman who’d reignited desire for him with little more than her presence was currently in his parlor being dismissed by his butler. He could hear Atkins’s voice through the wall, followed by a softer, more muted tone.
He clenched his jaw as anger started to brew at the base of his skull. How dare she come and disturb his peace? How dare she risk his and Michael’s reputations with her presence? It was bad enough that the parlor was filled with the memory of Clara. Now it would also be stained by her.
“Damn you.”
He thrust his hand over his eyes and watched the colorful sparks that danced behind his lids. The parlor door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded. James went utterly still in the ensuing silence. He held his breath and waited. Was she gone?
A knock on the study door ricocheted through James’s brain. “Enter!”
“I’ve brought the compress, sir.” Atkins’s dry voice scraped the air.
James parted his fingers and peered at his butler. “And Mrs. Lawson?”
Atkins paused for a second before he confessed, “Refuses to budge.”
“Refuses to budge?”
“Indeed.” Stepping forward, Atkins handed the compress to James on a silver salver. James took it and laid it across his brow. Ah. Much better. “I fear the only way to make her leave is to carry her from the house. If you agree, I’ll call a few Runners to help.”
“No.” James straightened with a jolt and immediately winced in response to the knives being thrust through his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then took a deep breath and told his butler, “We don’t want anyone else to know she is here. So just let her be. I’ll have supper in a couple of hours. If we’re lucky, Mrs. Lawson will let herself out at some point once she tires of waiting.”
Much to James’s irritation, she did not. He sat at his dining room table alone, gnashing his teeth. With Michael’s noticeable absence and Mrs. Lawson still in the parlor, he could not even be allowed to enjoy his meal. And it was all her fault. If she’d upheld her marriage vows to her husband, James could have given Michael his blessing. His son would be overjoyed at present and there would have been no disharmony between them. Instead, Michael now suffered and James had become the villain. It wasn’t to be borne!
He regarded Atkins who’d come to inform him of his visitor’s continued presence in the parlor. Tossing his napkin aside, he made his decision. “I’ll see her.”
The slightest shift in the aging butler’s eyebrows conveyed his relief. Atkins apparently was glad his master had chosen to get involved. His authority would be harder for Mrs. Lawson to argue.
James stood. He was beyond ready to get the persistent woman out of his home. It was damned rude and inconsiderate of her to dig in her heels and refuse to leave. Didn’t she realize she put poor Atkins in an awkward position?
Scowling, he made his way to the parlor. Of course she didn’t. Mrs. Lawson was a selfish shrew with no consideration for others.
He thrust the parlor door open, abusing the hinges. The door slammed against the wall with such violent force it seemed the room shook.
A startled gasp drew his attention to his unwelcome guest. She sat, bolt upright, in the simplest chair the room offered. His chair.
“Madam,” James growled while doing his best not to lose himself in the ocean-blue depths of her gaze or ponder the perfect full lower lip of her mouth. “My butler asked you to leave three hours ago. In case you need reminding, that is the exit.” He pointed in the direction of the front door.
“Thank you, Mr. Dale, but I wished to speak with you.” The melodious softness with which she spoke was like an elixir to his senses.
James balled his hands into fists and stared her down. “Any person with an ounce of common sense would have taken a butler’s dismissal as a clear indication that I do not wish to speak with him. But since you clearly lack all semblance of courtesy and respect, allow me to be equally rude and to say that you, Madam, aren’t welcome here. Now get out.”
Those gorgeous eyes of hers narrowed. Brackets appeared at the corners of her mouth. She rose, not like some dainty debutante, but like an experienced, headstrong woman refusing to cower. Straightening herself, she raised her chin. “Not until you’ve heard me out.”
James might not like her. He might not even believe her worthy of his notice, but he was man enough to admit she deserved his respect, if only for her boldness.
He crossed his arms. “Say your piece then, if you must, and leave.”
She swallowed, betraying some small amount of apprehension. The edge of James’s mouth twitched. So, she was not as composed as she let on. Perhaps she was even nervous?
He permitted himself to study her more closely. Unlike the first time he’d met her, beneath the glow of chandeliers, she no longer sparkled. Gone was the merriment from her eyes, which were now cradled by deep blotches of grey. No humor existed about her mouth, which remained a slash of severity on her face.
Only two years had passed since he’d been this close to her, and while she was still a striking woman, James was shocked by how wrecked she looked. It hadn’t occurred to him when he’d seen her in court. She’d been at one end of the room, he at the other. All he’d noted was the resolve in her expression. It had been hard and unyielding. But that too was gone now, replaced by a sort of exhausted determination, like that of an injured animal refusing to go down without a fight.
“My daughter wishes to marry your son,” Mrs. Lawson said with the stiffness one might ascribe to an over-starched governess. “Your son has proposed and she has accepted. The only hindrance to their future happiness is you.”